


A Fallen Protector

by DisguisedasInnocent



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 21:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15276660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisguisedasInnocent/pseuds/DisguisedasInnocent
Summary: Given the choice, Yasha will stand in front of her friends—her family—in the face of any danger. She will meet it head on for them, because she is larger, and stronger, and more deserving of death.





	A Fallen Protector

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't set in any particular place in the timeline, because I'm terribly behind on the current episodes due to many things. Though, I do know vaguely what has happened because I cannot stay out of the Critical Role tumblr tag, and the only thing I have to say is, "Ouch, my heart."

Yasha grimaced as she braced her knees and thrust her sword forward to block the vicious sword swipe the bandit sent toward a prone Beauregard. "I—" The Barbarian growled as she angled her blade to knock the man's sword aside and followed through behind it with a closed fist punch at the man's jaw, "—don't think so." 

The man rocked backward on his heels, and his eyes clouded over for a moment, before he refocused his attention on Yasha. "Bitch," the man grunted, "fine, I'll take you first." 

Yasha's top lip curled upward as she met the man's eyes. "Good."

The bandit snorted in amusement at the woman's confidence, "It’s still three on one, if you hadn't noticed."

"I've had worse." Yasha replied with a calm smirk before she tipped her head to the side and spat a globule of spit and blood at his feet. 

Yasha watched the man's fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword. The muscles in his forearm bunched. His calves flexed. Then, he sprang forward with a vicious lunge toward Yasha's midsection. The Barbarian growled, stepped forward, and twisted her body to avoid the thrust of the sword and swung her own up toward the man's face. The confident sneer froze on the man's lips for a split second before he arched his back and stumbled back. Yasha began to swing her blade around to follow the man's quickly retreating footsteps but his two 'friends' crowded inward and forced Yasha to parry aside two sloppy swipes to her stomach.

"So," the man grunted as he re-found his balance, "you're not just a big bruiser with that thing." 

Yasha let a small smirk creep onto her lips at the bandit's evident frustration. However, instead of replying to the man's words, the Barbarian chose to shift her weight to the side and sprung forward to slip her sword through second man's lazy guard and between two of his ribs.

The sword slid home with a sickening squelch.

Yasha swung her foot upward, planted it against the man's chest, and used it as leverage to pull her sword back.

"Now," Yasha murmured quietly, "it is only two on one."

"You—" the first bandit muttered angrily before he leapt forward with a yell of rage, "—bitch!"

Yasha braced her knees, careful not to step backward and uncover Beauregard, and squared her shoulders to take the impact of the man's wild swing across the flat of her blade. This time instead of allowing Yasha to push his sword aside, the man angled his blade to scrape the edge of Yasha's sword before thrusting it forward. Unable to disengage, Yasha twisted her body and let the sword dig into the tender flesh of her shoulder before she snapped her blade forward in an arcing swing that sliced through the man's throat.

For a moment, half a second and no longer, it looked as if Yasha's blade had missed the man's flesh.

Then, a bright crimson red line formed across the pale skin, and a torrent of blood rushed from the wound like a waterfall. The man’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened as if to speak, before he crumbled to the ground.

“One on one.” Yasha murmured, ignoring the heavy pulses of pain weeping from her shoulder, as she turned her ink black eyes on the third man.

“I…” The man’s mouth opened and closed, and his eyes flickered back and forth between Yasha and the crumpled forms of the other two men. “I…” He stood for a moment, and then, in the instant between one heartbeat and the next threw his spear to the ground, turned on his tail, and ran. 

Yasha watched the man’s stumbling desperate escape and the darkness receded from her eyes.

Then, with a shuddering breath, Yasha sheathed her sword and bent to pick up Beauregard’s small—made ever smaller by the absence of the Monk’s brash confidence—form and cradled the woman against her chest.


End file.
